The Note
by leader of lights
Summary: When Elizaveta handed him the note, Roderich didn't know what to expect. "Be My Valentine?" it read, signed 'Antonio Fernandez Carriedo'. It had to be a joke-what else could it be?


Elizaveta Héderváry passed him the note in sixth period, world history. She stretched her hand over his left shoulder, the folded square barely scraping the corner of his vision. "For you, Roderich," she whispered cryptically from the desk behind him. His daydream was interrupted, all the music measures spilling out of their borders and onto his aged wooden desktop. Mournfully, he plucked the note from between her thumb and index finger. She'd bother him until he read it if he didn't, and Roderich wanted to get back to his imagination as soon as possible.

The note was a piece of everyday lined paper folded twice on its side. He opened it carefully, as if it was coated in dirt. He didn't know what to expect. A note for him was not an everyday thing. Elizaveta was probably just as bored as him and decided to pass something trivial along: "Hi", or "What are you doing tonight?", but he wasn't taking any chances. If it was a joke and the teacher spotted it, anything could happen.

What Roderich saw when he glanced at the fully-opened page nearly knocked him back three years, to middle school. On the top margin, "Be My Valentine?" was written in angular, scratchy pencil marks. In the center were two check-boxes, labeled 'Yes' and 'No'. At the bottom, in awkward cursive, was just about the last name he expected to see: 'Antonio Fernandez Carriedo'.

Shock drove him to turn his head toward the back of the classroom so fast the images swirled before his eyes. Each face took time to separate from the off-white walls. Most students in the back row were sleeping on one arm or texting in secret, like normal teenagers. The one that wasn't beamed at him even before their eyes met. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, tan and curly-haired, fixed a challenge in his green eyes he couldn't wait for Roderich to accept. The teacher's narration of World War II's aftermath backed away from that challenge, fading deep into the background.

Roderich averted his eyes. He turned back to the note, frowned at it, folded it the way it came and jammed it in his navy backpack. A silly request like that didn't deserve a response. Whatever Antonio was playing at, he wouldn't play along. In his mind, Haydn awaited. This time, he wouldn't let the music slip away until the class bell rang.

Once out in the hallway after class, Elizaveta practically jumped on him. If she wasn't carrying heavy history and chemistry textbooks, Roderich guessed he would've had a fair amount of extra weight on his back. "Who's it from, who's it from?" she asked excitedly.

"Who's _what_ from?" he asked her, pretending to neither know nor care. His attention was better spent on passing through the clumps of uniformed students lolling around the hallway. Only the view from the spotless windows proved more colors existed beyond white and navy blue.

"That note!" Elizaveta insisted. Her sandy brown hair bounced on her shoulders. "No one sends notes anymore."

Roderich sighed. "Oh, that. It's... from Antonio."

"I didn't know you two were friends."

"We're not," Roderich explained. They turned a corner onto the art hallway. His locker was just ahead. "We don't even talk. I've just seen him around, usually with Francis and Gilbert." A freshman lacking a proper introduction to deodorant brushed against his shoulder, and he wrinkled his nose at the scent.

Elizaveta raised her eyebrow at him. "Those guys that stalk you?" He nodded to her as she leaned against the locker next to his, as comfortable there as in her own home. "Let me see it." Expectantly, she held out her hand, palm-up.

Showing her the note was a bad idea, he thought as he turned the combination lock on his very own navy-painted locker. If he refused, however, she'd guilt-trip him into doing it. Usually, they were best friends. Other times, they were husband and wife, long out of love but him still shackled at her feet. "Fine," he said as he popped open the lock and pulled his history book and notes from his backpack. Antonio's note lay on the top. "Take it."

"Thanks!" She snatched the note from its perch. As he set the books in his locker, her eyes were devouring the note's contents. "No way!" she cried, pink-glossed mouth falling open. Bystanders glared at her disapprovingly. "He's asking you out? What are you going to say?"

"I'm not going to say anything," Roderich replied as if she'd asked a stupid question. She had. The offer was obviously Antonio's idea of a joke.

Disbelief clouded her features. "You have to! There're only three days until Valentine's day! And you'd make such a cute couple!"

He'd known her long enough to tell when 'forbidden' images were floating through her head. He had to defeat them as quickly as he could. Otherwise, she'd nosebleed all over her uniform again. Taking the literature textbook for his next class out of his locker, he began the fight with, "Liz, you're crazy."

"No, listen!" Elizaveta stepped away from the locker and faced him, taking a more determined stance. "Antonio's cute, and he's happy all the time. That's perfect for when you get all grumpy. Like now," she commented, pointing at his pursed lips. "Plus, have you seen him from behind?"

Roderick slammed his locker. He changed his tone to a warning. "Liz..."

"And you, you're cute, too. Your eyes are such a pretty violet, and you have a nice haircut besides that weird hair that curls up in the front, and that mole on your chin makes you look like a movie star-"

"Elizaveta!" he said loudly, putting an end to her rambling. "Forget about this, all right? You'll be late to class."

That, she couldn't argue with. She took a reluctant step backward. "Fine, I'll leave it for now. But I'll see you after school, okay? Think about it!" she added before dashing down the hallway with a swish of her skirt.

Roderich hefted his bag over his shoulders and strode in the opposite direction. Antonio's smile pestered him one more time, mixed in his thoughts with the path he had to take to get to his next class. "Nothing will change," he promised her under his breath. It was really a promise to himself.

* * *

The next day, Roderich was listening to Chopin during sixth period. His fingers danced along the edge of his desk, itching for the feel of piano keys. This classroom was too confining without windows; the teacher, too monotone for anything to sink in. He studied privately for the tests, so the whole set-up felt repetitive to him. In front of a piano was where he wanted to be. Instead of blood, music ran through his veins.

"For you, Roderich," Elizaveta sang from her desk. The music stopped pulsing as dread took its place. Over his left shoulder she passed another note: a square of lined paper, folded twice on its side. He opened it.

On the top margin, "Be My Valentine?" was written in angular, scratchy pencil marks. In the center were two check-boxes, labeled 'Yes' and 'No'. At the bottom, in awkward cursive, was 'Antonio Fernandez Carriedo'.

A finger jabbed him just below the back of his neck. Elizaveta hissed, "You'd better say something this time."

Roderich scowled. "It was stupid then, and it's stupid now!" he shot back over his shoulder. He heard her slide grudgingly back into her chair, endlessly depressed that her strange fantasies wouldn't come true. All he felt as he shoved the note in his backpack, unfolded, was triumph.

The rest of sixth period passed in a blur. Seventh moved just as quickly. Eighth period, music theory, moved at a leisurely pace. More than any other class, he was immersed in music theory, like a diver in deep water. The work was tedious. The work was repetitive. It just wasn't useless, like information on exponential decay or foreign wars. He appreciated the gift of working with music notes at the end of the day-and it always left him wanting more.

After school, Roderich waited for the crowd of students and faculty to thin out before sneaking into the orchestra room. This room was his favorite. The scent of rosin and bowstrings dusted the air. The last vibrations of a powerful piece could always be heard. The wooden cabinets housing the smaller stringed instruments were beside the door, and the cellos and basses found their home in the "cabinets" (they looked more like closets) by the window. That window had the nicest view in the entire building: it overlooked the school's courtyard, well-kept and proud. In the center of the room, chairs fanned out in a semi-circle around the conductor's podium.

At the very front stood a piano.

It was the music teacher's piano, and he used it to accompany his students. Sometimes, after school hours, Roderich claimed it as his own. Today was a perfect example. He took his place on the padded black piano bench. All the eyes of the orchestra, of the empty chairs, were on him. He raised his hands, adjusting his tie and glasses. He touched the first key, as gently as if it was made of glass. Then, he pressed that key down. The rest of the notes followed from there. The piece he'd learned as a child. The name, he'd forgotten. He simply put more of his heart into it each time, transforming it from notes on a page into a masterpiece.

The music flowed from his dancing fingers, forming something beautiful all around him. He noticed the door opening halfway through the piece, but tried his hardest to ignore it. He wouldn't let that face disrupt his music again. Still, the notes stiffened at the sight of that smile from the corner of his eye.

Clapping followed the end of his piece. "Wow! That was great," Antonio commented, grin ever brighter. "You really know what you're doing!"

Roderich wanted to speak to him about as much as he wanted to set the piano on fire. "Thank you," he said curtly. Even his eyes avoided the intruder, instead resting on the smooth white keys beneath his hands. Despite the unwanted audience, he was reluctant to stop playing so soon.

"I mean, I was just heading out of Spanish Club when I heard you playing, and I knew I had to stop in." Antonio spoke very expressively. He stressed his words with his hands and strengthened them with enthusiastic expressions, as if he invested all his emotions in every word he said.

"Good to know." He really didn't care. He wanted him to leave.

Rather than make for the exit, Antonio grabbed one of the orchestra's folding chairs with both hands and brought it to the piano's side. Just as Roderich scooted farther down the bench, he took a seat. "Do you play the piano often?"

"Yes," Roderich replied, hoping one-word answers would better get his point across.

"Good! I love playing the guitar, personally." He pretended to hold and strum a guitar. The movement was surprisingly natural.

The musical hobby interested Roderich, but he hid that interest before it rose to the surface. "Oh," he said instead.

Antonio laughed. "Talkative, aren't you?" When his target didn't reply, he leaned forward in his chair and threw out something else. "I'm not convinced you play all that often, you know."

Roderich met his green eyes with a defiant look. That tone irritated him. "Oh? Why not?"

"Because there wasn't much emotion in what you just played. You played the notes perfectly, but I didn't hear any passion behind them," he replied.

A blood vessel popped in Roderich's head. At least, he certainly felt like one did. "I'm very passionate about my music!" he snapped.

As if the question logically fell into place behind Roderich's outburst, Antonio asked him, "Then who do you play for?"

"I play for plenty of people when I perform."

"That's not what I mean." Antonio thought for a moment, then spread his arms wide, as if addressing an entire group. "When you're in front of that crowd, who do you think of? Who inspires you?" He leaned back in his chair. "I play for my family, my friends..." he explained as he rested his right hand on the back of his neck.

The response seemed simple enough. Roderich just couldn't grasp it. "I... I play for..." The faces of his parents, of Elizaveta, of a pleased crowd appeared in his thoughts. When applied to the question, none of them stuck as its answer. "I play for me, I suppose."

Antonio snapped his fingers. "There's your problem. You need to find someone _else_ to inspire you."

While the puzzle was coming together from Antonio, Roderich was still fumbling with the frame. He didn't appreciate that. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Well..." Antonio trailed away thoughtfully. He pushed the final piece into place and smiled brightly at the result. "How about you play for me?"

Roderich felt his face heat up. A guy couldn't get more obvious than that. Even Elizaveta kept small secrets from him, and that familiarity was comforting. This was completely out of his comfort zone. "No thank you," he replied, standing abruptly. "I'd rather just go home."

Antonio also stood. The distance between then shrank to less than a foot. They stood eye-to-eye, as equals. "Okay, go home and think it over!" he said cheerfully. From this close, Roderich could see what Elizaveta meant. There was something attractive about this simple boy. Something there, in that scent of spices, earthy brown hair, and undisguised enthusiasm that he wouldn't let bother him. He could ignore it, and he would.

"Nothing will change," he promised Antonio just as he promised Elizaveta the day before. He brushed past him, out of the room, as the last vibrations of a powerful piece descended.

* * *

"Roderich, there's another one~" Elizaveta announced the following day, a Thursday. He closed his eyes in frustration as he reached back and took the latest note. It was folded the same way. The contents were the same. "Be My Valentine?" it read, signed 'Antonio Fernandez Carriedo'.

Roderich crumpled the note in his hand. Antonio didn't know when to give up. The first and second notes were never returned, so why did he send a third? None of it made sense, and only tossed the music in Roderich's head into a complicated jumble. For someone so sure of himself, Antonio didn't understand anything.

The bell rang after the slowest, most agonizing world history lesson he had ever encountered. Immediately, Roderich leapt from his desk and swept his bag onto his shoulders. He marched to the back of the room, eyes blazing behind the rim of his glasses.

Antonio smiled up at him. "Do you have an answer yet?"

"Come with me," Roderich demanded. He latched onto Antonio's arm and yanked him out of his seat. Although surprised, Antonio was able to manage saying "Okay, okay" and grab his bag before being half-dragged out the classroom door.

"Where are we going?" he asked as they dodged the oncoming traffic of students. "I do have class next period. Not that I mind skipping, I guess." Roderich said nothing in return; only tightened his grip. For once, Antonio shut up.

Roderich was focused entirely on one thing: finding a private place to talk. Where that was, he didn't know. He didn't normally need that kind of place. In these long corridors he preferred to keep to himself. He had a vague idea that the back staircase would be helpful, but wasn't sure how. At least he didn't care for getting to class on time now-there was plenty of time to investigate.

The back staircase was rarely used by the students. It was useful for getting to certain classes, but the main staircases outshone it in every other aspect. If they were the work of a master composer, the back staircase was the scribbling of an amateur musician. There weren't any gilded banisters or artful details here. It was homely, distant from the heart of the school, and as he discovered when they arrived, perfect for what Roderich had in mind. Relieved that his search was over, he pulled Antonio behind the stairs.

"Why did you send me another note today?" Roderich asked as he released Antonio's arm and turned to face him.

"Because you didn't answer the first two," Antonio replied. He glanced around them curiously. "I've never been here before..."

Roderich dropped his face into his right hand. "But that's the _point_," he stressed, trying to ignore the budding headache. "If I didn't reply then, why would I reply now?"

"It's a pretty straightforward question. You could've just said no."

He lifted his head and stared at Antonio as if he'd grown a third eye. "I couldn't possibly-" he began. His thoughts cut him short. Not once had he considered checking the 'No' box. He'd never considered answering it at all. If that was the solution all along...

"A-Anyway," Roderich continued, "Why me, anyway? I don't understand!"

That thoughtful expression revisited Antonio's face. "Why not you?"

"I'm being serious," said Roderich with a frown.

"You're different. Music means something to you, and I want to mean something to you, too." Antonio countered his frown with a grin. The sunlight streaking through the high window illuminated that smile, giving it an almost magical quality.

That's when the class bell rang out, breaking the spell.

Roderich's guard was in pieces. He'd already spent the past few days patching it up after the first blows he'd taken from Antonio's unpredictability. Now, he'd realized the offer wasn't a joke after all, and didn't know what to do. Slowly, the silence helped him to think again. "You didn't know I played the piano until yesterday," he said blandly.

"I should've known you'd catch me on that," Antonio replied with a laugh. "That's how I feel now, anyway. Before, I'd really only heard about you playing. And sometimes it looked like you were playing the piano on your desk." He shrugged. "Besides, I thought you were cute."

The comment about his desk-playing already had Roderich red with embarrassment. The 'cute' comment made that blush a lot worse. "You thought I was..." he repeated incredulously. Instead of finishing, he shook his head. "You're so... simple."

Antonio cocked his head to one side. "Thank you?"

"That wasn't a compliment. I think." That headache had morphed into a migraine in record time. He pressed hard between his eyes, trying without success to tame it.

Whistling awkwardly, Antonio rocked back and forth on his heels. "Well. I may be simple, but I can still walk you to your class. And help you out with an excuse for being late, " he offered hopefully.

Roderich was in no shape to be wandering around the hallways alone, and he knew it. Having company couldn't be that bad. "Fine," he agreed, "But come up with a good one." He started toward the the front of the staircase.

"You can count on me!" Antonio declared. He caught up instantly, right at his side and closer than ever. Roderich didn't have the energy to tell him to keep his distance. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

* * *

It was sixth period, world history, at the end of a long week of classes. A sense of quiet excitement hung in the air. Whispers of plans with boyfriends and girlfriends filled the holes in the teacher's lecture. Even Elizaveta chatted with the blonde girl in the desk beside her about a Singles Awareness night. Roderich rested his chin on his hand and tuned them all out, waiting for what he knew would come. Rather than music, all he could think about was Antonio.

The fourth note arrived at the usual time. He opened it and looked it over, expecting the usual question, check boxes, and clumsy signature-not the instruction below the boxes in the same, scratchy handwriting. "Meet me at the creek, by the bridge, after school" it read. Roderich stared at it a moment longer, then refolded the note and slipped it between the pages of his world history textbook. His thoughts moved at a presto pace.

The creek, he thought eventually, wasn't far at all.

An hour after school let out, he was there, beside the water high from melted snow. The pale, brittle grass crunched softly under his feet and he slowed from a run to a walk. He couldn't catch his breath. He'd sprinted for blocks to make up for his lateness; to make it here, by the stone bridge, the rushing creek, and the bare tree Antonio stood against.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming," said Antonio.

"I'm sorry. I was... busy." Roderich lowered his head.

"Busy getting those flowers?"

His face warmed. Under his trembling fingers, the tissue wrap around the brilliant red carnations crinkled. "The flower shop was packed," he explained. At least the wait had paid off-he bought exactly what he came for.

Antonio pushed away from the tree and approached him. "There's a lot of them, isn't there?"

Roderich gave him a severe look. Indignantly, he said, "I'm not exactly _experienced_ like you, but I thought I was supposed to give a bunch of flowers on Valentine's Day."

"Hey, I like them, I do! Carnations are my favorite. How did you know?" Antonio was practically glowing with delight.

"I guessed." Inwardly, he grimaced at how terrible a lie that was. He'd spent much of the day asking around and checking social networking sites. The breakthrough came with Elizaveta's help: she was friends with Antonio on one of them.

"Great guess!" Antonio praised. "I'm just sorry that I only have one flower for you." The entire time he'd held one hand behind his back, but Roderich was paying too much attention to his own awkwardness to notice. When Antonio brought that hand to the front, a long-stemmed red rose came with it.

Roderich smiled. It was more than he ever received before, from anyone. "One is all I need."

Antonio mirrored the smile, relieved. He glanced at the carnations, then back at Roderich, and stepped closer. "I guess I have my answer, then?"

"Yes, you do," Roderich replied. He held the fourth note loosely in his right hand, against the bunch of carnations.

Antonio took one last step forward, so close the flowers pressed against them both. As he leaned over them to kiss him, the note slipped from Roderich's fingers. It fluttered to the ground, the 'Yes' box checked.

* * *

**Author's Note: **We meet again, OTP.

I wrote this for the contest on the dA Spain/Austria fanclub, House of Hapsburg. The Theme is AU Valentine's Day. I hope I do well~

**Other Important Notes (Besides Antonio's)**:  
o Franz Joseph Haydn was a prominent Austrian composer.  
o Frédéric François Chopin was a Polish composer and pianist, but he did stay in Vienna for a while.  
o Spaniards generally stand physically closer while talking than foreigners might like.  
o 'Presto' is a rapid music tempo/speed.  
o An Austrian custom on Valentine's Day is for a young man to give his beloved with a bunch of flowers. He must consider the type, color, and even the scent.  
o In Spain, one custom is for couples to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. They give red roses a thumbs up.  
o Spain's national flower is the carnation.


End file.
